


It Was Torture

by VincentMeoblinn



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal, Asexual Sherlock, Frottage, M/M, Romantic Friendship, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Unsatisfying Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-26 19:01:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2662844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VincentMeoblinn/pseuds/VincentMeoblinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John’s feelings for Sherlock get in the way of their friendship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Was Torture

 

It was torture. John wanted Sherlock, but Sherlock was asexual… or straight… or gay… or whatever the fuck he was. Whichever it was he wasn’t interested in John. He’d made that clear when they’d first met and no amount of doe eyed looks were going to change it. So he made due. He dated when he could, but he saw every attempt to stay with someone go down the tubes when Sherlock snapped his fingers. So he dealt with it, but slowly it began to burn through him. Depression settled in. He saw it and recognized it for what it was. Sherlock saw it too. He mentioned the skipped showers and poor eating. He prodded John to take care of him in his usual awkward way. It helped when he did that, because John felt as though he were at least a _bit_ cared about. Then he faced facts and packed up his stuff and left.

John bid farewell to Sherlock while he stared at him in shock. Then the bastard called him out on it.

“You’re leaving because of your crush on me,” Sherlock replied, “It’s idiotic. Leaving won’t make you idolize me less.”

“I know that,” John replied, reminding himself not to change his mind- or worse- cry.

“So why leave? You have it good here. I pay most of the rent and you have more space than you’d have elsewhere. I provide you with your battle fix, I’m the only friend you have who actually _likes_ you, and I tolerate your ignorant girlfriends. You have no logical reason to leave. Put your things back upstairs and come watch that _Bond_ fellow you like. You’ll feel better in no time,” He ordered.

Then he went back to burning eyeballs and John picked up his bags and walked out the door. Sherlock didn’t even notice. It took him a _month_ to notice, and when he did he hunted John down, found his bedsit, and pounded on the door for an hour. John had been deep in his cup, so he simply threw a pillow over his head and waited for the man to enter. As expected, Sherlock picked the lock and let himself in.

“John. John! I’ve been texting you all night! Wake up! I brought coffee!”

“Go away before the police arrive.”

“Why would the police show up?” Sherlock scoffed.

“Because I _called_ them,” John replied, “Knowing my ex-flatmate was going to pick my lock. Now go away before you get arrested. I’m not bailing you out this time.”

“Joooohn!” Sherlock whinged, “Come on! There’s been a murder! It’s a locked room! My favourite!”

“GO! AWAY!”

“I need you there!”

“No you don’t! Find another audience for your genius!”

“They’ll just fall in love with me, too,” Sherlock scoffed, “It’s either love or hate with me, you know that.”

“Your arrogance is just…”

“I _knew_ it!” Lestrade’s voice rang out.

John sat up and blinked blearily at Lestrade, “What?”

“You love him! When did you tell him? I might have won the pool!” Lestrade cheered.

“Arrest him and get out,” John growled, “The both of you.”

“For what?” Sherlock and Lestrade both asked.

“Breaking and entering!” John groaned, pulling the pillow over his head.

Lestrade sighed, “Come on, Sherlock. Let’s go. You can call him when he’s sobered up. I’m sure he’ll forgive you for whatever you’ve done or not done.”

“I haven’t _done_ anything!” Sherlock whinged, “It’s not my fault he’s got a crush on me!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lestrade chuckled, “Let’s go Romeo.”

“I… I am _not_ Juliet!” John shouted, tossing the pillow off his head and scrambling halfway up before his head started spinning, “I’m not going to off myself. I already locked my gun up and tossed the key to avoid it.”

They both paused, and a look of horror crossed their faces. John missed it, staring blearily at the foot of the bed and continuing to babble drunkenly.

“Of course… if someone tries to kidnap me again and I’m unarmed that’s _sort of_ suicide. Except I didn’t intend it so… I guess it’s not.”

“John,” Lestrade asked, “Are you thinking about killing yourself?”

John blinked up at him blearily, “Not most days.”

Then he puked over the edge of the tiny bed and toppled into his own sick when he passed out.

XXX

John woke up smelling surprisingly good. In fact the scent that surrounded him was Sherlock’s. He was also in water.

_Fell asleep in the bathtub after stealing his wash for a wank? He’s going to have something to say about that._

“John, I know you’re awake,” Sherlock’s voice rang out.

John groaned, rubbing at his face in both humiliation and pain as his head pounded.

“Here’s some pain pills,” Lestrade added.

“Yeah, could you keep it down?” John asked.

“NOT REALLY!” Greg shouted, his voice echoing in the bathroom.

John jumped, sloshing water as he opened his eyes and stared around him in alarm and no small amount of agony. Lestrade looked angry. Sherlock looked resigned.

“Ease up on him, Lestrade,” Sherlock sighed, “He’s not thinking straight. He’s _in love_.”

John winced at the disgust in his voice.

“Yeah, yeah. Help me get him up and out of the tub,” Greg grumbled.

They dragged him up, sat him on the side of the tub, and dried him off while he managed a bit of water, some dry toast, and pills. Sherlock was the one to brush his teeth and John figured if he had spent ages cleaning up after the birk than it wasn’t a big deal if he brushed John’s teeth. He did try to walked as much as he could while Sherlock and Greg dragged him to… Sherlock’s bedroom? John groaned as he was lowered naked onto the bed and then tucked beneath the covers.

“You sure this is a good idea?” Lestrade asked.

“It’s what he needs and it’s what I want,” Sherlock replied seriously.

“What’s going on?” John asked miserably.

“Just wait till he’s sober, yeah? Consent and all that,” Lestrade pointed out.

“Obviously,” Sherlock replied.

Lestrade gave John’s shoulder a squeeze and then left the room. Sherlock shook his head down at John as though saddened and then began to strip.

“Wh-what are you doing?” John asked, struggling to sit up.

“Relax John, I’m just going to bed.”

“I should go upstairs.”

“Your bed has been rented out already,” Sherlock replied, “She got quite the surprise when I went up there looking for you.”

“Gods, were you at least dressed?” John wondered.

“Mostly. Go to sleep,” Sherlock replied, and then brushed a kiss over John’s forehead that lulled him into sleep.

John woke with a shiver of longing, the feel of a slick hand stroking his cock bringing him slowly into consciousness as pleasure coursed through him. He moaned and reached out for his partner, finding a sharp hip to greet him.

_Who?_ John wondered, but the thought was pushed out of his head as the person turned around and backed up against him while still holding his cock steady.

John gasped, wriggling forward eagerly as his cock was lined up with a wet, open arsehole. John moaned as he pressed inside, gasping in pleasure. He pushed a leg between his lover’s thighs and then moved his hand from hip to crotch to stimulate the man while he waited for his agonized panting to stop.

_Wait… agonized? HIS?!_

John’s eyes flew open, his hand fondling the limp cock he’d found in his hand rather than a wet quim. Sherlock’s dark curls greeted his eyes, his back ramrod straight as he completely failed to relax into the penetration, as he’d need to.

“Sherlock…” John panted, “Come on. Breathe. Relax. You need to let your body accept me.”

“This works. I know it does,” Sherlock gasped, “People who think they’ll enjoy it are more likely to feel more pleasure and less pain. Prostate stimulation _can_ be enjoyable.”

John nodded against Sherlock’s shoulder, licked his palm, and began stroking Sherlock’s cock to get him hard. It wasn’t working. His body relaxed and he leaned against John in obvious acceptance. He even told him he could move, giving John the relief he needed as he began to slowly glide in and out of the tight body in front of him. He was waking up more, and though he couldn’t manage to hit his prostate from this angle he could reach down and stroke it externally. Nothing worked.

“We… we can stop,” John panted, “We don’t have to do it this way. We can just touch.”

“Don’t stop when you’re so close. I can tell by the swelling at the head of your penis.”

John groaned, “I’ll just… I’ll suck you off after.”

“Not necessary,” Sherlock replied, a bit of disgust in his voice.

John was close enough to feel his climax pressing against the base of his bollocks, but Sherlock’s tone and responses were quickly chasing it away. He closed his eyes, breathed in the gorgeous man’s scent, and focused on fucking that gorgeous, plush arse that he’d been dreaming about for years. John ran his hands over every inch of Sherlock’s body that he could reach, tweaking his nipples and running his hands through the entirely new sensation of a partner with hair and wiry muscles.

“That’s nice,” Sherlock sighed as John explored his body. His hand immediately shot down to Sherlock’s cock to try to pump some life into it, but Sherlock’s growl of frustration sent him wondering back across the rest of his body again. Sherlock sighed happily again and John let his imagination tell him it was a sigh of orgasmic pleasure. The blonde grunted as pleasure pulsed through his groin before sending chemical bliss running into his head and relaxing his limbs. John lay there, arm lazily draped over Sherlock’s body and leg firmly between his thighs until his brain stubbornly pointed out that Sherlock hadn’t gotten off yet.

John slid carefully out of Sherlock’s abused passage and whispered that he was going to get a flannel.

“Then I’ll be back to give you what you deserve, you brilliant man,” John purred.

Sherlock smiled up at him and John headed for the loo.

“Scotch, please.”

“Sorry?” John hesitated in the doorway, his waning erection bobbing a bit.

“Scotch. I’d like my eggs scotch this morning. I know it takes a bit of effort, but you make the _so perfectly_ , and as you pointed out just now I _do_ deserve it,” Sherlock preened as he rolled onto his stomach.

“You want… okay. Umm… what about…?”

“Hm?” Sherlock asked sleepily, “Do go on, John. My arse is leaking and frankly it’s disgusting.”

John hesitated a moment longer and then went to do as Sherlock had whinged. He rooted around in the bathroom, cleaned up his prick, came into the bedroom and _literally_ wiped Sherlock’s arse, then washed his hands _twice_ , and went to make the sexy bastard some damn scotch eggs. One hour and seven ruined attempts later he headed into the bedroom again with three perfect scotch eggs and a fair bit of pride. He sat down on the edge of the bed and nudged his sleeping lover awake.

“Sherlock? Hey, wake up love,” John soothed, trying his best to tell himself he had a right to call him that.

“Mmm, John,” Sherlock sighed sleepily.

“Hey,” John leaned down and pressed a kiss to his stubble, “Wake up. Scotch eggs _a la_ John Watson. Just like you asked for.”

“Mmmm,” Sherlock sighed sleepily and rolled over, blinking awake and stretching like a cat, “They smell delicious.”

“Good,” John smiled, “Now sit up and _eat_ for once. You look half starved.”

“Well, I didn’t have my doctor around to fuss over me,” Sherlock chuckled, sitting up and collecting the silverware John had brought him.

“Yeah… about that. What is this, Sherlock? I mean, I know what I _want_ to think, but what is it _you’re_ thinking?”

“Namely that these eggs are _perfect_ , how do you do it?”

“The trick is in knowing you sometimes have to break a few eggs,” John quipped, “Now about my possibly broken heart? What was that this morning. A one off? A promise? A chance?”

Sherlock gave him a curious look and cocked his head to the side as he dragged the fork slowly out of his mouth, “Um, can’t it be all three?”

“All… okay so… let’s try this again. Sherlock Holmes, _what am I to you?_ ”

Sherlock grinned, “A damn good cook!”

“I’d rather I were a damn good something else,” John sighed, “But I think that ship has sailed. Look, Sherlock, it this is about my performance earlier I _swear_ to you I’m not a greedy lover. I’ve just never been with a bloke before so if you’d give me another chance…”

“John,” Sherlock sighed, “You tried until I was all but _chaffed_ \- no, just hear me out- your efforts were admirable but in vain. As I’d tried to explain to you when we first met, I’m not interested it sex. However I think it’s fair to say that I’m more than just married to my work now.”

“Oh really?” John asked miserably.

“Yes. I’m also married to you.”

“To… to me?” John asked in alarm.

“Mm-hm,” Sherlock nodded, downing another bite and chewing it brusquely, “It makes sense, doesn’t it? You’re in love with me, I’m in love with you, we live together, we’re committed to each other’s well being, and now we have consummated our relationship.”

John hadn’t heard much past ‘I’m in love with you’, so for a moment he just stared at him with a goofy grin on his face until the last few sentences sunk in.

“So you… ahem… that’s it? You’re… I mean… I thought you said my crush was pointless?” John asked, positively glowing with adoration.

“It is,” Sherlock replied, “Because I’m incapable of returning your sexual advances. Thankfully a bit of research allowed me to assume the passive role in bed, so there will be no difficulty in you achieving sexual gratification. Problem solved. Now you can give up this silly moving out and offing yourself business.”

John froze. All the sappy idealistic fantasies drained away, “That’s it, isn’t it. You did this to keep me from killing myself? Sherlock, I’d _never_ have done that. I’m depressed, yeah, but I’m not suicidal even if I do think of it from time to time. Look, let’s just… take a step back. You said you couldn’t return my… are you not interested in me sexually?”

Sherlock nodded, “Correct, but I don’t see that as a problem. We were quite successful just then.”

“Sherlock,” John frowned, “We _weren’t_ successful. It was fantastic being with you like that- being intimate- but… look without you enjoying it too I had to work to get off. I don’t want that, Sherlock. Fuck, this is all messed up.”

Sherlock had stopped looking carefree about the situation and was frowning at his nearly empty plate, “You didn’t enjoy it?”

“I did,” John sighed, “But I had to do a bit of imagining to make myself enjoy it. Mainly pretending you _did_ , which was clearly a stupid idea as it set me up for _this_ moment. Sherlock, I appreciate what you did today but I think it’s best if I leave.”

“What? No!” Sherlock grabbed at John’s arm as he moved to stand, “John wait! Let me try again! I’ll make it better this time. Um… I’ll moan! Look, see? Ohhhhh!”

John had to turn his head away as his stomach did a sickening flip at Sherlock’s attempted pretense. Sherlock saw his revulsion and released him.

“But… it’s just _sex_. People go without it all the time,” Sherlock tried, his tone angry, “I love you. I’ve told you I have. That’s supposed to _mean_ something. Why do we need _sex_ to be together?”

“We don’t,” John replied, “I just… I can’t live with you and not _be_ with you, Sherlock. It’s killing me slowly.”

“You moving out was killing you quickly,” Sherlock replied with narrowed eyes.

“Sherlock, I don’t think you get this whole love business,” John explained gently, sitting back down on the edge of the bed, “When I say I love you I mean romantically. When you say you love me you apparently mean a different sort of love. The friendly sort, or the brotherly kind.”

“Brotherly? No,” Sherlock replied, his face disgusted, “I can’t _stand_ Mycroft’s company. I don’t want to be away from you. I _always_ want you there with me; even when I sleep. I’ve not slept so soundly in years as I did last night.”

So saying he slipped his arms around John’s neck and leaned in for a warm and gentle kiss, their lips just sliding together in a way that was intimate without containing the desire John longed for. It was sweet. So sweet it brought tears to his eyes. John reached behind his head and grasped Sherlock’s wrists, pulling them until Sherlock sat back.

“I’m sorry,” John said softly, “Goodbye.”

“John!” Sherlock shouted after him in frustration, following after as John tugged on clothes while staggering towards the doorway, “John, who will look after me?”

“Mrs. Hudson and your spying brother, who is probably arranging my convenient disappearance as we speak.”

“Who will cook for me?”

“Definitely Mrs. Hudson on that one. And Angelo. And all the other dozens of restaurateurs you’ve saved over the years,” John paused on the top step, “Awfully convenient that, now I think of it.”

“John,” Sherlock whinged, “Who will fetch me things!”

“Use your arms and legs, they’re attached to your torso. Excersize is healthy,” John replied, pulling the front door open.

“Who will love me?” Sherlock asked, his tone despondent, “No one has ever loved me like you have before. I don’t want to stop feeling that.”

“You were positively _dismissive_ about it not long ago,” John replied angrily, not looking over his shoulder as he pulled the door open.

“I didn’t know what it was like _without_ it. John, I love you. Please. Stay. I’ll find a good way to fake it.”

John slammed the door shut and turned on Sherlock, full of cold fury as he stormed towards him.

“If we do this,” John whispered, his voice shaking with outrage, “ _If_ , Sherlock. _If_ we do this you will not _ever_ fake it with me. Do you understand? I get your honesty if I can’t have your bloody body. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, John,” Sherlock nodded having stood his ground until John was nose to… well _chin_ with him.

John stared up into his eyes, “You will tell me the moment you find someone else you want.”

“That won’t happen,” Sherlock replied.

“ _Promise me_ or I’m walking out that door and you won’t ever see me again.”

“I promise,” Sherlock replied, his eyes more sincere than John had ever seen them. This wasn’t Sherlock the Actor, this was 100% genuine William Scott Sherlock Holmes, “I promise complete honesty and full disclosure in all things related to our relationship both physical and emotional.”

“Good,” John replied, “Then we try this.”

John pushed past him and up the stairs again. He wanted to hit something. He wanted to throw something. He wanted to storm up to _his room_ but it wasn’t _his room_ anymore. He showered instead and Sherlock wisely didn’t bother him. When he came out Sherlock was reading his laptop.

“A case,” Sherlock stated, “Are you up for it? I can turn it down, it’s only a 6.”

“That means you’ll be sending me?” John clarified.

Sherlock nodded and John fetched his jacket without another word. He hoped there was a suspect to punch at the end of it.

XXX

John returned home from his ‘case’ covered in sweat, grime, and filth from the Thames. He hopped into the shower again without a word and by the time he emerged Sherlock had finished telling Lestrade of the results of his investigation, apparently having solved the case just by seeing John walk through the door.

“It was the mud,” Sherlock explained, turning his laptop to show John a sedement analysis, “That particular white grit doesn’t appear anywhere else but…”

John let himself phase out and just stared at Sherlock’s lips as he spoke. He’d had to try to hide it for so long that it was nice just to sit there and moon over Sherlock like a lovestruck teen. Eventually Sherlock stopped bragging and leaned in to kiss him slowly. John let it happen, but when he felt the stirrings of arousal he pulled away.

“Bed? You look tired. I’m not, but I’ll sit with you till you fall asleep,” Sherlock offered.

John found that both sweet and acceptable so he nodded and let Sherlock tug him to the bedroom. He still hadn’t fetched his things so Sherlock stripped him- his idea- and stuffed him into one of his shirts and a fresh pair of loose pajama bottoms. No pants. Sherlock’s were far too small and restricting for John. He sat on the edge of the bed and babbled at John until he drifted off to Sherlock explaining why sediment was different in each area of the Thames due to tides, currents, local flora and fauna, and human trash production and disposal. He dreamt he was floating on an old burst tire down the Thames with a magpie flying overhead pointing out all the shiny rubbish while piping “ _Murder! Jawn! Murder!”_

“John! Murder!” Sherlock shook John awake, pressed a kiss to his lips, and all but skipped out of the room.

“Damn, he’s right,” John sighed, “Nothing’s changed except we kiss and sometimes he sleeps next to me. Bloody hell.”

Two weeks later and John was eating crow. It _wasn’t_ like a marriage, or at least not like a new one. As far as John was aware Sherlock never got aroused, never looked at porn, never ogled men or women around them, and never _got off_. John was now certain that he was either asexual or had a medical symptom that caused him to have permanent erectile dysfunction. He’d have loved to get him in for an exam, but he was too busy finding ways to wank in private while Sherlock was busy finding ways to invade what little privacy John had left.

“Sherlock! I’m on the loo!” John shouted, shifting the laptop to cover his weeping erection.

“Yes, but you’re not _going_ are you?” Sherlock replied, his tone stating that he knew very well that John wasn’t using the toilet for conventional reasons, “Come on out of there. You’ve been in for ages.”

“I’d be out faster if you stopped interrupting me!”

“Why? You’re clearly trying to find someone who look like me to masturbate to, why not look at the real thing?”

“Because the real thing doesn’t want me!”

“Of course I do, I’m just not interested in _sex_ ,” Sherlock scolded, “Now hurry up! How bloody long does this _take_?”

John gave up, his erection well and truly gone, and followed his mad consulting detective out into a blizzard to search for a missing diamond ring that they never found; likely because it was washed into the sewers once the snow melted, which was exactly why Sherlock hadn’t wanted to wait. When they got home John passed out and didn’t get a chance to try again until after his shift at the clinic the next evening.

Sherlock was out, so John buried his face in the berk’s pillow and jerked off fast and hard, spilling his cock into a hand towel while moaning Sherlock’s name and rubbing at his cleft. He’d never feel the man inside of him, and that knowledge left him feeling oddly empty in more than one way.

Finally Sherlock started to pick up on John’s _I need a wank_ tempers and would make an excuse to leave him to his porn. It took weeks, but even the socially awkward twat managed to figure out that John had _needs_ beyond just staring at his gorgeous bum all day. John became slowly and inevitably acclimatized to their unconventional relationship. Sherlock even bought him a gift card to the local adult shop for their six month anniversary, along with a list of actors who resembled him closely enough to be wank fodder for John’s ‘impossible fantasy of sexual gratification with me while I’m begging for it like a rentboy’.

John was absolutely certain now that Sherlock was asexual, mainly because he finally admitted it. It soothed him to know he wasn’t simply repulsive to the gorgeous man. It helped things settle and John found routine in their lives once again. Sometimes women flirted, but he simply informed them he was in a committed relationship. Once or twice he couldn’t take the innocent cuddling and ended up rutting up against Sherlock’s hip until he spent himself, but he did that rarely since the man looked downright disgusted afterwards. For the most part, the warmth of another human being was enough, and the love was everything he could ever have asked for.


End file.
